Cops, Robbers, and Hundred Dollar Ties
by SkyBleu
Summary: Suits Xover. Wes smells Harvey before he actually sees him. Harvey/Wes; slash


**Cops, Robbers, and Hundred Dollar Ties**

**Disclaimer**: Common Law, Suits, and its respective characters belongs to its creators, USA Network, and NBC. Not mine.

...

Wes smells Harvey before he actually sees him – expensive cologne, $300 _an ounce_, woody like slightly burnt mahogany, with an undertone of citrus and something spicy that the sheer force of nostalgia causes him to suddenly come to a halt. This nearly triggers a collision involving a bellhop walking several steps behind him along with four suitcases, two gym bags, and a makeup kit.

After profuse apologies from both parties, more so on the bellhop's part, and a promise on Wes' part that he'll pay for any damages that incurred during the crash, before he's able to approach the figure – dressed in a suit that was probably the equivalent of one month's detective's pay – calmly checking his emails on his smart phone.

There are two glasses of scotch beside him.

"If it isn't Pearson Hardman's former poster boy, himself," a voice, rich like bourbon soaked cigars calmly states as Wes nears him. He can already sense the slight smirk that must be on his lips. "Business casual, unsurprisingly, suits you."

"Harvey Spector," Wes breathes, his shoulders sagging – resignation or agitation, it's hard to tell. "I was wondering when Alex would get desperate enough to call you in."

Harvey absently dusts his sleeve of imaginary lint, his brown eyes narrowing in mirth as their eyes meet, "I'm hurt, Wes. Why can't I just be in town visiting an old associate?"

"Across the country is not a mere jaunt across the way," says Wes as he takes the seat next to Harvey.

"I was idly curious," replies Harvey as tilts his head slightly, scrutinizing Wes' choice of clothing. Wes hackles rise in slight defense, but instinct dictates that he smooths his expression into nonchalance; it never pays to play into Harvey's mind games.

Harvey must have some sort of recollection of what is running through Wes' mind but he chuckles as he averts his eyes back to his drink. His fingers idly play with the rim of his glass, his voice light and almost conversational. Almost. "Are you done playing cops and robbers yet?"

Wes bristles. This again. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not," Harvey says easily, almost apologetic. Specter doesn't apologize but this is the closest thing he'll ever get to it, "You are – " present tense, it irks Wes, "One of the best at Pearson Harman. Second to me," Harvey's lips quirk upward, and that irritates Wes to no end. "It's more than a little disappointing to see you," he scrutinizes Wes' ruffled clothing, the scuffed shoes, the healing bruise on his right cheek, "Out of your element."

"I'm a good detective," Wes retorts, picking up his scotch and draining it in one go. The burn feels _so good_. He flags the bartender; he won't give Specter any leeway. "Put them on my tab." Tucking his hands in his pocket, he literally retreats, heading up to his hotel room.

Hot on his heels is one Harvey Specter, "I wasn't implying that you weren't a good detective – "

"Sure sounded like it," Wes says, striding into the elevator, pressing the close button frantically but Harvey easily slips in – the weasel. He presses the button of the topmost floor and folds his arms together. He can feel a headache rear its head. It's almost as bad as the ones he got when first working with Travis. Almost.

"You were a better lawyer," Harvey murmurs, standing beside him. Their shoulders brush against one another as he turns to look at Wes straight in the eye. He has his lawyer face on, the one that would have once upon a time ago unnerved Wes and sent green lawyers and paralegals fleeing in the opposite direction in tears. Now though, now he's one more reason why Wes needs to be out there on the street instead of the courtroom.

"There are very few lawyers of your caliber, Wesley," Harvey says as the elevator pings floor after floor. Luckily, no one needs to board this particular elevator. Lucky them. "I'm not being factious when I say it's more than a little maddening to see your talent wasted on – on," his voice softens, his voice deepening as if to pent the frustration creeping into his voice, "this mundane occupation."

Wes bites his lip – they'll keep talking in circles at the rate that this is going. He knows he is – _was_ a good lawyer; he was on track to become a senior partner after all. He can't say he didn't regret stepping down but – but when he solves a case, it – the feeling of relief and pride almost subsides the constant thrum of guilt that presses against his chest everyday – that burning and lick of shame.

Although…

He slides his keycard into the electronic slot and opens the door into an empty hotel room. It makes him wonder if maybe, _maybe_ –

He always squashes that feeling before it grows. It's been present, this _feeling_, this inability to control what he knows rationally that he cannot, but Wes has had years to compress the important stuff, he's an expert – the little stuff like this is cake in comparison.

"I would expect no less of you," Harvey admires as he follows Wes past the threshold into his room.

"You're trespassing," replies Wes coolly as he drops his suit coat onto a nearby couch. He passes by one of the guestroom in his penthouse suite and pauses. There's luggage in it, black and sleek, and of course it's Harvey's. He closes his eyes and inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth. "How did you – "

"I get what I want," is the answer.

"This was unlawful – "

Harvey grins from his position against the hallway wall, it's all teeth and confidence and Wes is taken aback at how familiar this all is. "I would like to see you litigate that."

"I would win," he replies.

"Debatable," says Harvey, and the man is like a ninja. Somehow, he's glided from his previous position one yard away from Wes to by his side, looming over him despite their one and half inch difference in height.

"Doubtful," Wes spits out. He makes a move to step away, gain a chance to breathe only to suddenly be slammed against the wall, a solid weight pinning him immobile and a pair of familiar lips on his own. It tastes like toothpaste and expensive scotch.

Wes, he _refuses_ to admit he may be a little touch-starved, melts under Harvey's clever fingers and a familiar mouth - confident, urging, just a touch of desperate, and god it feels good - against his.

Yeah, definitely old times.

* * *

**A/N**: Dangit, Common Law is only on episode two and I'm shipping the hell out of its characters. This fic was based off of a tumblr post I ran across, it was rather inspiring! Review and tell me your thoughts!


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